Shelly Laurenston: The Mane Squeeze

Blayne gave the grin. “You can thank Daddy.”

Gwen glanced at the scoreboard. “We’re already six points behind.”

“So? This championship is still ours to take.”

Gwen rested her arm against her knee and wiped blood from the open wound on her forehead. “You know, it was this sort of attitude that nearly got us expelled from St. Mary’s of Perpetual Sorrow.”

“I still say it was a fair question to ask.”

“Not when the Pope is coming to visit.”

Blayne held her hand out—after flicking the blood off—and Gwen clasped it with her own.

“Let’s win this, Gwenie.”

Gwen smiled. “You’re on.”

“Five bucks, though, you crack a nail.”

Gwen glanced down at her hands while Blayne hooked her muzzle back on. “You are so on .”

“I have to be honest,” Ric admitted, looking away from Gwen and Blayne in the infield and at Lock. “I’ve never found a handshake so frightening before.”

“I can’t argue that observation.”

“I do have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“Why is my family name on the Babes’ asses?”

“Because apparently you’re a sponsor.”

Ric let out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

Gwen rolled out on the track, Blayne beside her. When they separated, they tapped fists and got into position. McNelly rolled by Gwen, winking at her. Lifting both hands, Gwen gave her the finger—twice.

The two teams laughed, as did the audience. But Gwen wasn’t laughing and neither was McNelly.

As she’d done before, Gwen crouched and waited for the second whistle that would be her signal. The Furriers’ jammer stood next to her. She remembered this one from Blayne’s first bout. A superfast cheetah with a mean streak named Pussy-N-Boots.

“You sure you’re up for this, Fresh Meat?” she asked, grinning at her.

Gwen shrugged shyly. “I hope so,” she replied in a small voice.

She saw the cheetah’s grin get wider. “You’ll be fine, kid,” she said.

The first whistle blew and the pack took off. A moment later, the second whistle. Pussy-N-Boots shot forward and Gwen came up after her…behind her. Reaching down, she caught hold of one of those long cheetah legs and gripped it with both her hands. Spinning around and using the upper-body strength she’d inherited from her mother, Gwen lifted the Furriers’ jammer up and flung her out and over the railing. Without waiting to see where the female landed or if she’d cleared the railing, Gwen spun completely around and took off after the pack.

As she moved in closer, she saw McNelly waiting for her even as the She-wolf kept skating forward. So focused on Gwen and her desire to take her out, she didn’t see the wolf-coyote, Lethal Lacey, until she’d slammed into her, forcing McNelly into the railing. At that point, Gwen picked up speed and took hold of the gloved hand held out for her. Blayne’s fingers closed over Gwen’s and she said, “Hold on, Gwenie!”

Gwen did, waiting as Blayne grabbed the neck of one of the Furrier blockers right in front of her and shoved her aside. Once she’d cleared the way, Blayne whipped Gwen through the cleared path through the pack.

Knowing she was the lead jammer, Gwen ripped around the track, passing the Furriers’ jammer as she was climbing back over the railing. Gwen ignored her and kept going until she reached the pack again. The team needed the points, so Gwen pushed her way through the pack, unable to use Blayne this time since she was having a bit of a scuffle with two Furriers. That meant she had to get through on her own and McNelly was back and tearing across the track right for her. She kept going, hoping to pass one more Furrier before she stopped the jam or McNelly dropped her.

But she’d forgotten something important. For once, Gwen and Blayne weren’t on their own. For once, they had someone else watching their backs.

McNelly was inches from her, snarling, her fangs beginning to show when a busty liger crashed into McNelly and dropped her right there on the track. Gwen passed the Furriers’ other blockers and pivot for three more points and then quickly brought her hands to her hips twice to call off the jam.

Gwen rolled into the infield, Blayne coming up beside her. She threw her arm around Gwen’s shoulders and said cheerily, “That went well, huh?”

“Yeah.” Gwen glanced at her as they stopped. “Sweetie, what’s wrong with your finger?”

Blayne shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Nothing.”

“Your forefinger always points back at you that way?”

“It does now.”

Gwen held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Gwen—”

“Give it.”

Growling, Blayne held her hand out. Gwen took hold, felt around a bit, and said, “Blayne, look. Mr. Squirrel.”

Blayne looked across the track. “Where?”

Lock heard that bone snap back into place from where he was sitting and it took everything in him not to just get up and leave.

Jess barked out, “Holy shit!” before burying her face against Lock’s neck while Ric dropped his face in his hands and visibly shuddered.

“War wounds!” Roxy cheered, her sisters laughing and clapping along with her.

When Roxy realized Lock was gawking at her, she patted his knee and promised, “She’ll be fine, baby-boy.”

“When you say ‘fine’ do you mean she’ll be unharmed when this is all over, or do you mean that she bounces back really well from life-threatening injuries?” When Roxy opened her mouth to speak, Lock quickly added, “If you’re not going to say something that will make me feel better, please don’t say anything at all.”

Roxy’s mouth slowly closed and she looked back out over the track. “Oh, look, baby-boy. Next jam’s starting. Why don’t we watch?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying not to panic. “Why don’t we?”

It happened every time Gwen rolled out on the track. They would chant her name…“Tasty!”

Okay, so it wasn’t her name, but Lock felt it was close enough. And those from Philly who’d attended seemed to love it.

Lock had to wait until the cleaner had wiped off the glass in front of him before he could see Gwen getting in position on the track. She wiped off the blood leaking from her nose and then popped it back into position using both hands.

Ric let out a breath, quite pleased they’d had Heineken beer among all the Millers and Buds the roaming sellers were hawking. “You know how we always thought we were so much tougher than the football players because we play hockey?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s official. We’re all pussies.”

Lock laughed but absolutely agreed.

The ref blew the whistle and the pack took off. The “jostling” from earlier had turned into a “melee” Sun Tzu would have been afraid of.

The second whistle blew and Gwen moved. God, his woman was so fast. Between her lighter weight combined with those powerful tiger legs of hers, none of the other jammers could hope to get close to her. The only thing that helped them was whether Gwen could get through the pack. She tore up the track, catching up to the pack in seconds. One quick hyena slammed into her, but Gwen shoved her off, sending her spinning into her own teammate, both of them crashing into the railing and flipping over.

Gwen grabbed hold of Blayne’s arm, and Blayne held her back, using her free hand to grab the blocker in front of her by the neck and yanking her out of the way. Once she had the opening, she flung Gwen through it. Free of the pack, Gwen took off, the ref tagging her as the lead jammer as she shot around the track.

Lock glanced at the scoreboard. They’d been ahead for a while, but now they were four points behind with thirty seconds left on the board. Gwen had to make it past the pack at least one more time to tie.